


Pretty Things

by bickazer



Series: Magus Verse [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Corporal Punishment, Dom/sub, Fantasy, Infidelity, M/M, Magic Users, Minor Violence, Non-Explicit Sex, Unrequited Love, men in makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9899237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bickazer/pseuds/bickazer
Summary: In the land of Senero, all magi are either energos or ministra, dominant or submissive. Dion is beautiful, graceful, and submissive like a ministra should be. But he has an edge like a knife, and a heart no one can read. Ed has spent his entire life dreaming of being the one who can dominate Dion, but Dion has other dreams. If he can even say what those dreams might be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the same universe as two of my other stories, which are on my fictionpress account (where I also go by the name of bickazer). Those stories are long monsters so I don't feel like porting them over, but this one is a oneshot that stands completely on its own.

The first time Edgar Valoy spoke to Dion Emereti, he was six years old.

Now, he knew all about Dion. His parents had been telling him about Dion for ages. Valoy and Emereti were close families, with long histories in the same part of the southern Forestlands. They visited each other's estates often.

Dion was five years older, and according to Ed's parents, perfect. He was good-looking and clever. He always obeyed his parents. He ate his bean sprouts and went to bed at seven. He worked hard at his lessons and had already memorized all of the Sylvan Legendia, the epic history of the Forestlands.

"What a good child," Ed's parents said. "If he becomes an energos, he will be the next heir of Emereti. Why, Emereti will be in wonderful hands."

Dion was a child, like Ed. He wore short tunics and cut his hair to his shoulders. But he was eleven while Ed was six, and thus he was at the age where adults wondered about these things, whether he'd manifest as an energos or ministra.

Ed didn't really care. He just knew that he liked to look at Dion. He never talked to Dion; he just watched from behind trees and walls. He watched the sunlight glint off Dion's golden hair, Dion's sharp profile. He watched Dion strut confidently about with his own little court of older kids.

"You like him," Ed's sister Romina teased.

"I don't," Ed said. "He's weird."

But Ed watched him anyway.

It happened during a summer party at Lord Chanron's manor. The day when Dion spoke to Ed.

They were out in the courtyard. It was a hot day, the sunlight falling in dappled patches between the grapevines twining around the trellis roof. Dion was all by himself. He wore a tunic of pale blue cotton, almost the same shade as the hydrangeas in full bloom beside him. He turned toward Ed and fixed him with piercing green eyes, and Ed had never been more afraid. Or excited.

"You," Dion said. "You're always watching me. What's wrong with you?"

Ed didn't speak. He stared at his sandals.

"Never mind," Dion said. "Say, I lost a bracelet. I think I dropped it somewhere by the walk that way. Care to find it?"

"Yes," Ed managed. He was sweating hard and he didn't think it was only the heat.

"Then go get it." An elegant flick of the wrist.

Ed ran toward the walk. He dropped on his knees in the dirt and dug beneath the bushes.

Later, Ed got in trouble for ruining his clothes. He never ended up finding the bracelet.

* * *

Three years later, Ed saw Dion again.

Dion had come home from the capital, Azed Court. He had come back for the annual grape harvest, an occasion where wine flowed freely and Forestlanders sang and danced as joyously as Coastlanders.

Ed gathered with the rest of his family and watched as the Emeretis filed into the courtyard, flanked by servants in their colors of green and burgundy. Dion was the last to exit the carriage, and a gasp rolled around the courtyard.

Dion was dressed in court style, heavy robes of green silk glinting with gold embroidery and patterned with the family grapevines. Dozens of gold pins secured his hair, each tipped with an enamel magnolia blossom. They tinkled with every one of his graceful steps.

A week after that party at Chanron Manor, Dion had manifested as a magus. But he had not become an energos. He was a ministra instead, elegant, beautiful, submissive. He would never be the heir. Instead, he would serve his family by securing an advantageous bond.

Ed had never seen a court ministra before. He held his breath as Dion strode past him. The hairpins looked heavy. He wondered how it would feel to wear such things in his own hair.

During the party, Dion spoke and ate very little. He looked at Ed once or twice but didn't seem to recognize him. That was fine. Ed had grown a lot. But he could not take his eyes off Dion. It was like a fairy had walked out of a storybook and into the real world.

Yet beneath the robes, the pins, the paint, he saw the same Dion he'd spoken to three years ago. The same sharp profile. The same green eyes so full of distrust to the world.

Dion stayed in the Forestlands for a week. His family often brought him to Valoy Manor for tea. Ed was never invited to these teas but his sister Romina was. Romina had become an energos.

Ed loitered outside the tea room, even though he knew he shouldn't. He wanted to hear Dion's voice. Those sharp, surprisingly high tones. They bathed Ed liked icy water, prickling and bracing. It made him shiver.

One day, while Ed was heading down the hall to the tea room, Dion stepped out from behind a display of miniature citrus trees. He looked down at Ed, and Ed quivered in fear.

"Hey, kid," Dion said. "I'm running away."

"What?" Ed said.

Dion twitched his shoulder. "You heard me. Now scram."

He gestured, his sleeve rippling, and Ed didn't think twice before turning and running the opposite way.

* * *

They caught Dion in less than an hour, of course. They made Dion bow before his family elders and apologize. But when the day came to bring him back to Azed Court, Dion refused to go. He writhed and spat. He scratched at his family guards and even tried to stab them with his hairpins.

Ed was there. He watched the scene, watched as Dion fought like a cornered cat, and silently cheered him on.

"I won't go back there," Dion shouted. "It'll destroy me. It'll destroy me."

His parents cried. Ed's parents cried. They wondered what had gone wrong. How had the perfect child turned into this?

A week later, Ed saw Dion. He went into the sun room of the Emereti manor and saw Dion sitting at a table, sketching the birds flitting about the plum trees. He sketched with dark, furious strokes, wielding his brush like a sword.

After a while, Dion deigned to notice Ed. "What do you want?"

"I like your drawings," Ed said.

"Do you now?" Dion smirked at Ed, thin and predatory, and Ed felt a quiver pass down his spine. "Of course you do. They only taught me to draw pretty things at court."

"What's wrong with pretty things? You're a ministra. You like pretty things."

Instantly, Ed knew he had said the wrong thing. Dion stiffened. Ed could see his tunic bunching up as back muscles knotted. Ed took two steps backward.

Dion stood up. He moved toward Ed, surprisingly fast. He grabbed Ed by the collar and slammed him against the table. Ed cried out, a pathetic, choked little sound.

"You're an eyesore," Dion snarled, his face twisted in a hideous mask. "Fuck off. Oh, and get me some tea while you're at it."

He let go of Ed. Gasping, massaging his throat, Ed ran out of the sun room. His steps carried him straight to the kitchen.

* * *

The years passed. Ed manifested as an energos. During the initiation ceremony, his mother cut his hair short and dressed him in the traditional long robe and cloak, and he bent and prayed to the First Energos, Azed.

After that, Ed learned wood magic. He learned the chants and songs of an energos. His parents told him to find a ministra to complete him and he'd become even stronger.

Ed was the second energos of his family. Romina would be the heir. His parents decided to teach Ed business. They sent him to his uncle in the countryside, who taught Ed the ins and outs of managing a vineyard. Ed would help his family continue their traditional business, using his wood aura to speed along the growth of the vines and make the sweetest grapes for the legendary Valoy vintage.

Sometimes Ed thought about Dion, who had not done what his family wanted. Who knew what Dion was doing now. Sometimes Ed asked, but his uncle always gave evasive answers.

So Ed started to imagine. He thought of Dion in the sunroom, surrounded by miniature plants, smelling of magnolia blossoms, sketching birds. Pages and pages of birds. But at night, Ed's thoughts turned in different directions.

He was growing up. This was normal. He furiously told himself these things as he reached beneath the sheets, stroking the shameful heat down below. He'd sweat and pant and think about Dion's golden hair spread loose, Dion's full lips slightly parted, his thin, angular body jerking beneath Ed's.

Ed's uncle wasn't exactly quiet about his nighttime activities with his ministra. Listening to him bark commands, his ministra answer with murmured, _"Yes, Masters"_ s only stoked Ed's excitement, gave him new ideas.

He was a fool, wanting a ministra who hated him. But surely nobody else would want Dion, not after he had run away and turned his back on his destiny. Ed would be there for him. Ed understood.

Dion had told him about his intention to run, after all. That had to mean something.

Ed held on to that thought like a lucky charm, and it kept him warm through all the nights in the vineyard.

* * *

When Ed was seventeen, he came back to Valoy Manor. He smiled at how small all the furniture seemed, how old his parents had become. There were new plants in the halls, growing beneath the windows, colorful lilies and lilacs. All of them had been grown from Romina's aura, Ed was told.

Romina had already bonded. She had taken on many of the responsibilities of the master of the house. Ed often watched Romina walk the gardens arm-in-arm with her ministra, a woman draped in the delicate linens and silks of a Forestlander, her hair up and secured with a different flower each day.

Ed imagined the same thing, but with a different ministra in his arm. A slender, sharp-featured ministra with eyes like poison. Ed imagined tucking a cluster of hydrangeas behind his ministra's ear, sweeping back his golden locks.

One day, Romina told him that Lord Gregor Bellius was visiting. Romina spoke about Lord Bellius in an annoyed tone; apparently, he was from a very minor, recently ennobled family. "Between all of them combined, they could probably grow a single dandelion," she sneered of their magical ability. "But he's got good business sense and makes a lot of money. Trading or something. Keep him happy."

Well, he wasn't important enough for Romina to deal with. But Ed hadn't spent all those years studying business for no reason, so he graciously prepared the second sitting room and stood up and smiled when Lord Bellius entered.

Lord Bellius wasn't much to look at. He was a portly man, his tunic straining to cover his stomach, and his features showed he had significant Mountainlander blood; his hair and beard were russet red, not the more typical brown or blond of the Forestlands. He spoke in obnoxiously loud, jovial tones.

"Ah, and here comes my ministra," said Lord Bellius, gesturing behind him.

With dainty steps, a slender figure entered the room. His head was bowed. To Ed's surprise, his hair was short, trimmed close at the sides and longer at the top. His linens whispered upon the floor.

As soon as he reached Lord Bellius's side, he lifted his head. Ed saw the sharp features, the poisonous eyes.

"It's been a while, Valoy," Dion said.

* * *

Vainly, Ed struggled to keep his composure. Yet he couldn't keep his eyes off Dion. This _was_ Dion, the Dion Emereti who he'd dreamed about for all these years. Yet he was so different now, with that unorthodox short hair yet wearing the traditional golden shoulder clasp of a bonded ministra. The paint on his eyelids and lips was a dark, metallic green, giving his face a predatory quality.

And he knelt beside this fat, bearded, red-haired Lord Gregor Bellius. Hands folded in his lap just like a proper and demure ministra.

 _How? When?_ Ed wanted to ask. He wanted to scream. He wanted to challenge Lord Bellius to a duel. He wanted to run away from the room, like all the previous times he'd run away from Dion.

"Do you two know each other?" Lord Bellius said, a sparkle in his gray eyes. _Gray_ eyes, like a Mountainlander. And Ed was supposed to believe this man was a Forestlander noble?

"We met a few times when we were children, my lord," Dion said.

 _My lord._ A cold hand reached inside Ed's chest and twisted his heart. Dion was saying those words to this old fatty. Not to Ed.

"It was more than that," Ed found himself saying. "We were friends."

Dion flicked his gaze upwards, his eyes sharp and accusing.

"Is that so?" Lord Bellius chuckled. He reached down, thoughtlessly, affectionately, dragging his thick fingers through Dion's hair. The hatred in Ed's chest churned. "Well, then you must come visit some time. Do you know, Dion here has become quite the artist."

"Don't say that, my lord," Dion murmured, pressing his cheek against Lord Bellius's thigh. Ed dug his fingernails into his palms.

"He truly has. It's why I took him, indeed. He has quite a singular vision. You should come visit, see his works. I say they're good enough to display in galleries, but he won't let me sell them."

"I don't paint for anyone but myself," Dion said. "You know this, my lord."

My lord, my lord, _my lord!_ Why wouldn't he stop saying it? Was he intentionally trying to dig under Ed's skin?

Ed forced a smile. He looked into Lord Bellius's hateful gray eyes and smiled. "I'd be happy to, Lord Bellius. How about next week?"

* * *

Later. In the garden. Lord Bellius had gone to share a bottle of wine with Romina. Ed was alone with Dion at last.

Dion stood with his back to Ed. Ed could see the slender, arching curve of his spine through his thin robes. Dion had his head bowed, exposing the slope of his neck. He looked so strange with short hair. Alien.

"You didn't tell me," Ed said at last. His voice shook, despite his best efforts.

"Was I supposed to have?" Dion lifted his head slightly. "Contrary to what you said, we were never friends."

"You bonded. That's a big thing. So of course - "

Dion spun around, eyes narrowed. "Fuckhead. You're saying that because you never thought I'd bond, did you?" His green-painted lips quirked upward. "You thought I would save myself for you, little boy."

"I'm not a little boy anymore," Ed said hotly. "I just - he's - I thought you ran away all those years ago because you never wanted to bond. So why would you - "

_Old. Fat. Ugly. Bearded. Red-haired. Not even a strong magus. Not even a proper Forestlander._

He couldn't make himself say it, coward that he was.

"You never understood me, Valoy," Dion said, lacing his fingers together. His nails were painted the same shade of metallic green as the rest of his makeup, and he wore a pair of golden cuffs around his wrists. The cuffs of a claimed ministra. To say nothing of the pale marking twining up his right forearm. A bond-mark.

"I know I didn't," Ed said, but it was a lie.

"My lord is good to me," Dion said. "And he lets me paint."

"But do you love him?" Ed blurted.

Dion quirked up an eyebrow, then smirked. Ed hated the quick, smooth movements of his face. "He lets me paint."

"I'd like to see your paintings," Ed said.

"Of course you do. Don't worry, I'll show you." Dion tilted his head toward Ed. "Maybe I'll even let you take one home."

* * *

True to his word, Ed rode to visit Lord Bellius the next week. It wasn't as long a journey as he thought, but he learned that this was because Lord Bellius had taken up permanent residence in his summer house, which was in the Forestlands capital of Dassos. It was a beautiful townhouse on a cobbled street overlooking a canal, with a garden blooming with fruit trees within.

And the walls were covered with paintings. Canvases splashed with rough patches of paint, crossed with jagged stark lines. Every brushstroke was apparent, full of fury and quivering with energy. At first, Ed didn't think they depicted anything, but when he stepped back, scenes emerged. Plum blossoms in winter. Blooming hydrangeas. Fields of golden wheat and blue skies. Dappled green gardens. There were no birds.

Such peaceful scenes, yet they were rendered with such ferocity as though the painter hated every inch of them and wanted to destroy them at the same time that he created them. They filled Ed with an old, familiar fear.

Almost the instant Dion arrived home, he set up his easel and canvas in the garden and began furiously painting. Ed watched him slash the brush across the canvas like he was trying to murder someone, his hands moving so quickly Ed could barely keep up. Dion worked with manic energy until sundown, when he finally came inside. He put a completed painting of pomegranate trees into his studio, a small room that reeked of turpentine and was crammed with dozens of other paintings in various stages of drying.

"Dion," Ed said as Dion emerged from the studio. "Where did you learn to paint like this?"

Dion gave an annoyed twitch of his shoulders. His heavy emerald earrings also swung with the motion. "Nowhere."

"It's amazing," Ed said.

"If you can see that, then you'll understand." Dion glanced at Ed over his shoulder. "This is what I love, Valoy. This is what I live for."

"Then why don't you sell them?"

"As always, you have a habit of asking the wrong questions." Dion swept away, and Ed didn't follow.

* * *

After that, Ed visited the Bellius house frequently. He was often in Dassos for business, anyway, persuading stores to stock the Valoy vintage. He always found a reason to stop at the Bellius house, maybe even stay a night or two.

Most of the time, he watched Dion paint. He could do it all day. During these times, it was like Dion was actually...alive. He worked with such fury, his brow creased with frustration, and he never seemed to tire. Entire scenes came to life beneath his hands, pictures of familiar fruits and flowers and gardens but seen through unfamiliar eyes. Eyes that hated and loved in equal measure.

Ed would watch Dion's hands move, swift and certain, and he'd gaze at Dion's sharp profile, the way his short haircut emphasized the sloping shape of his cheekbones, and at night he would dream. The same dreams that he'd dreamed all of these years, but with new evidence to back them up. For he now knew what Dion had grown into.

 _It's wrong, he's bonded,_ but Ed doubted it was a real bond. Lord Bellius was almost never around, after all. And Dion had said he had bonded with Bellius just because Bellius let him paint.

 _I would let you paint, too,_ Ed thought. _And I'd keep your paintings all to myself. I'd let no one else see them._

He became more daring. He sat closer to Dion while painting. He leaned in while they spoke, breathing Dion's woody, piney scent. He 'accidentally' bumped into Dion a few times when passing in the halls.

It wasn't right, he knew. Dion was bonded. But it wasn't real. Bellius was old and fat. He couldn't possibly satisfy Dion. And he was a weak magus. He probably wouldn't be able to detect another energos's scent on his ministra.

Ed praised each of Dion's new paintings to the skies. He asked Dion about the paints he used, many of which he mixed himself, and learned about the artists Dion admired so he could talk about them. Dion started to talk more, too. He smiled more often, and not just those poisonous smirks of his. His eyes seemed softer these days, too.

Both of them were feeling their way closer and closer to an inevitable truth, a point of no return. Every visit, Ed quivered with more and more anticipation. Soon they would cross it. Soon, his dreams would come true.

Then one night, Ed awoke to a sudden sound. As if someone was just outside his door. Groaning, Ed rubbed his head and slid out of bed, prepared to shout at the servant for disturbing his sleep.

But as he marched toward the door, the voices became clearer. They were lowered, hushed with excitement. Two people breathing just slightly out of sync, rough and quick.

"My lord, my lord, please, come here, let me greet you - "

"Now, now, what are you so excited about?"

"Mm, my lord, like that, yes, there - "

"Let's go back to our room, shall we?"

"Why? Here is fine."

"Darling - " The voice vanished in a wet smacking sound. Ed stood frozen in place, his heart pounding against his ribcage, his ears wide open. Unable to stop listening.

He heard Dion and Bellius laugh. Then Bellius press Dion against the wall. The slither of linen and silk. More kisses, loud and wet and disgusting. He heard the exact moment when Bellius entered Dion, knew it from the long, drawn-out gasp Dion unleashed. He heard Dion pant and whimper, "My lord, my lord," over and over again, at a quicker and quicker rhythm. He heard their mutual release, the low, contented whispers they exchanged afterward.

Ed sank to his knees, hands balled into fists, his eyes burning with tears of fury. And shame.

* * *

Dion Emereti wasn't surprised to see Edgar Valoy out in the courtyard early the next morning.

Fall was rapidly coming upon Dassos. The leaves were vibrant scarlet and gold, and the air held a new chill. Dion had to wear a cloak outdoors now. But this was his favorite time of the year. He could truly go wild with his paints, creating scenes of bloody wounds disguised as fall foliage.

Ed sat at the stone bench where Dion often rested while observing the garden. He was glaring off into the sky. Dion smiled in quiet triumph as he approached Ed.

"What are you doing up so early?" he asked, full of cutting amusement.

Ed went stiff. Oh, his reactions were so fun. Dion had met few people so naked about their desires. It was pathetic. "What's the matter? Did you not sleep last night? I imagine you didn't. You probably spent all night crying to yourself."

Ed whipped toward Dion, eyes blazing with fury. "You did it on purpose."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dion said archly. "I was just happy to greet my lord after so long."

"You did it to hurt me," Ed snarled. His entire body was quivering.

"I did it to prove a point," Dion said, folding his arms. "I'll never be yours, lover boy. What exactly were you hoping for?"

"I - you - " Ed sputtered, his face rapidly reddening. Dion smiled like a predator, quite pleased to see the idiot at a loss for words.

He began to stalk in circles around Ed, hitting him with harsh words. _True_ words. "You're a child. Thinking you can make me _fall in love_ with you...because you think I ever had any kind of feeling for you. I never did. You're just a fun toy for me, always have been. You were fun to bully back then and you're still fun to bully now."

Ed clenched his hands into fists and bowed his head. He trembled even harder, and Dion laughed.

Why Ed Valoy dug such a needle into his heart, Dion didn't know, and he didn't care. All he knew was that he hated the boy and derived great joy from tormenting him. Ever since he'd run into that miserable child during the party at Chanron Manor.

Then suddenly a harsh sound sliced apart the chilly air. A laugh.

Dion blinked. Ed was laughing?

Ed lifted his head, and to Dion's utter shock his face was twisted with mirth. He lifted a trembling finger, aimed directly at Dion's heart. "Really now. _Really?_ You're that pathetic?"

"Pathetic? Are you talking about yourself?" Dion said, trying to rally. But he'd already lost control. He hadn't expected Ed to fight back.

"Is your life so fucking empty you're still having fun bullying a kid from your childhood? What does that say about you, huh? You must hate it here, locked like a pretty bird in a cage. Making all this art but you don't even know why, and nobody cares about it or wants to look at it."

"I don't care if anybody looks at it," Dion shot back.

"So what's it for, then? Huh? Tell me. What is all of it for?"

Dion couldn't answer. He didn't know himself. All he knew was that it was the only thing that kept him from boiling over in rage each day, every day. The only thing that kept him alive.

"You're the one who lost, in the end," Ed said, his voice full of venom. "That old fat fool of yours is the same as all the other energi who you didn't want to bond with. Who cares if he lets you paint. You're still just a trophy, a jewel to him."

 _Who cares if he lets you paint._ The rage rose within Dion, black and boiling, choking him. No, the fool still didn't understand a _thing. Who cares._ It was a matter of life and death to Dion and this boy didn't know it? And he dared to think that he actually _loved_ Dion?

The rage boiled, his hands shook, and he needed to - needed to grab a brush and let it all out - but it wouldn't be enough, no canvas would be enough -

His lips moved. His voice rose. A chant squeezed out of his throat, a high thin sound, and the leaves flew from the trees like so many scarlet butterflies and swirled around Ed. Their edges, now sharp as razors, sliced at Ed. Ed swiped at them, shouting, but couldn't fight off the assault with just his hands.

Dion laughed, intensifying the assault, triumph swooping inside him. A sickening, disgusting triumph.

Until a familiar heavy scent filled the air, driving the breath from his lungs. The musk of an energos. Another voice chanted, a deep voice that made Dion tremble, and the leaves rained to the ground like scraps of sunset.

Ed lowered his arms, panting. His clothes were torn, his skin covered with scratches. He turned toward the garden gate.

Lord Bellius stood there, his face chalky with anger. "Dion," he barked. "What do you think you're doing?"

Dion's knees trembled, but he locked them tight, refusing to kneel. Even if it was the right response in this situation. "I was teaching Valoy a lesson," he snapped.

"Master Valoy is my guest. How dare you treat him in such a manner."

"I - " _I hate him. I want to scratch him until he bleeds and see him cry._

Dion could not say it. Not to his energos.

"Dion," Lord Bellius said, and his voice was heavy with regret. "Go fetch the strap. Now."

Dion stiffened. Ed turned toward him, and the expression on his face made Dion wish that he had murdered Ed, right there and then.

"Dion," Lord Bellius said, sharper now, and Dion couldn't deny that tone any longer. He stalked off, hands balled into fists, acutely ware of Ed's stare following him the entire way.

_I will kill him. One day, I will surely kill him._

* * *

Later. In his bed. Lord Bellius lay beside him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Dion was glaring holes into the opposite wall.

"Dion." Bellius sighed. "Are you still angry at me?"

"No, my lord," Dion said, and that was truth enough.

"But you are upset. Do you believe the punishment unjust?"

Dion let his vision unfocus, the room becoming a dull blur around him. "No, my lord. You were right to punish me."

"Then what is the problem? You're not the sort to sulk after a punishment." Bellius's hand stroked, rubbing circles into Dion's skin. The sensation was comforting, though Dion would never say so.

"I just wish..." Dion focused on the wall again. "I wish you hadn't humiliated me in front of Valoy."

"Humiliated you? You mean when I told you to get the strap?" Bellius sighed. "You know I always ask you to get the implement before a punishment."

"There was no need to do it in front of him."

"You attacked him. If I hadn't shown him I was willing to discipline my ministra, what would he have thought?"

"Who the fuck cares what Valoy thinks?" Dion growled, the familiar anger rising inside him, tightening his chest.

The hand stopped stroking. Dion felt a brief flash of fear, but it was gone in a second. He'd never truly feared Bellius, not the same way he feared Ed.

"You really despise him, don't you?" Bellius said softly. "I don't see why. Ed is a good boy, very practical, devoted to his house."

"He's a child," Dion said. "You shouldn't have told me to get the strap in front of him."

He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing exactly what Ed would have imagined. The sight of Dion bent naked over the chair, gasping and crying out as the strap cracked across his thighs and ass, painting red stripes across his skin. The image filled him with a fury that made his head pound.

That Ed would think of him that way - think of him as a _ministra_ \- it was the worst fate imaginable for Dion.

"Dion," Bellius sighed. "It already happened. It's too late to change it now."

Dion scowled and buried his face in the pillow. _Too late._ Too late for everything. To run away. To live the life he wanted, whatever the hell that was. To escape, to finally escape Edgar Valoy.

"What is Ed to you? What happened between you in the past?"

"He is an insect," Dion said to the pillow. "I might have bonded with him, once. I might have, when I was stupid and naive." _And believed in such a thing as someone who could understand me._

"Hmm?" Dion heard Bellius's sharp intake of breath. "Your childhood love, then?"

"Don't be _absurd,_ my lord. It's a fate I'm very happy to have avoided."

"Do you..." Bellius paused. "Do you feel regret, Dion?"

"I don't regret hating him," Dion said. "I will never love him."

"That, I will admit," Bellius said, gazing upon Dion with a sad smile, "I am happy to hear."

* * *

Ed didn't see Dion again until the afternoon. After the butler had helped bandage his wounds, he went outside in the garden, even though the sky was gray and overcast and threatening rain.

Dion sat on the stone bench, though with a cushion beneath him, painting away at the canvas. As expected. Though to Ed's surprise, Dion wasn't slashing at the canvas with his usual rapid ferocity. Instead, he worked slowly and deliberately, rendering a detailed depiction of birds in full flight.

"Birds again," Ed said.

Dion twitched, but didn't face Ed.

"I'm sorry," Ed said, though he didn't know what he was apologizing for. "If you want, I'll never come back here again."

"My lord likes you. He'll ask for you back." Dion spoke with no emotion.

"Dion, I..." Ed swallowed. His heart ached like a fresh bruise. He didn't know how to even begin putting things right between him and Dion, if it was even possible.

"Come here." Ed's heart skipped a beat when Dion gestured. Cautiously, step by slow step, he approached.

Then Dion reached out and seized the front of his tunic and dragged his head down. The next thing he knew, soft lips pressed against his cheek.

Ed pulled away, crying out in surprise. Dion tilted his head and smirked. His lipstick was smudged. Ed brushed his cheek, and his fingertips came away green.

"Be happier," Dion said. "I gave you what you wanted."

_No, that's not it. I want...I wanted to see you paint birds again. But not like this._

Such foolish, pointless words. Ed couldn't say them aloud. He bowed his head and pressed his green-stained fingertips to his heart, the traditional gesture of farewell in the Forestlands.

"I love you," he said, finally said after all these years.

"I hate you," Dion said, his brush beginning to form another bird.

"I know." Ed smiled, even though it felt like his face was being torn apart. "Goodbye, Dion."

Dion didn't reply. Ed hadn't expected it. He turned around and walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think. If you're interested in the other stories in this universe, please do check them out on my fictionpress!


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